


What's Right, What's Smart

by Singerdiva01



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:54:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singerdiva01/pseuds/Singerdiva01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Colonial Day in a world in which Laura Roslin chose the smart thing over the right thing. (Written for the 2014 BSG Remix.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Right, What's Smart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afrakaday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Benevolent Tyrant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/866422) by [afrakaday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday). 



> The original story was such a powerful piece precisely because of its brevity, leaving big questions unasked and unanswered in a way that invites the reader to color in the background for themselves. I took that invitation seriously and the result is a little trip down memory lane for Laura and Bill in afrakaday's beautifully created universe of Colonia.

“Bill, did you send your greys down to the laundry like I asked? Like I asked yesterday?”

Laura’s voice was stern but her smile was loving when she stepped out of the luxurious bathroom, hair damp, and set her gaze upon Bill’s back as he stood looking out of the window onto the balcony of the presidential mansion. She knew he was engaging in his favorite Election Day sport of counting the colonists gathered below and picking out his favorites of the lettered signs singing her praises. 

“Yes, Madame President. Anything you say, Madame President,” he quipped without turning around.

She giggled at the familiar refrain borne out of their playful teasing about their now literal imbalance of power. One of her first acts on the soil of Colonia was to sign a decree declaring him an honorary Admiral for life -- a title the people seemed to agree the man who drove them to Earth deserved -- but he no longer officially shared with her the daily duties of running what was no longer technically a fleet. 

She often missed the arrangement that had allowed them so much time together but when he joked with the press that his only role was being Madame President’s house husband no one believed him for a minute. He remained her closest council as well as her unofficial bodyguard, military advisor, and intel gatherer of both the state secret and gossip variety. 

It was the last duty he was fulfilling this morning, she realized, when she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck to playfully nuzzle his ear. He was thoroughly engrossed in the newspaper in his hands, open to the newly introduced features section. The page was dotted with pictures, mostly of her but some of them both, obviously dedicated to the day’s celebrations. 

He shifted his head slightly into her embrace but pulled back when she snorted loudly and launched into a familiar fit of giggles.

“Gods, Bill, that headline,” she sputtered when she’d calmed a bit. She reached for the paper in his hand but he quickly pulled it away. 

“Hey, now, get your own. I’m reading this fine piece of journalism,” he chastened. At her dubious expression he straightened himself into his most official military pose and cleared his throat loudly. 

“The Woman Who Saved A Civilization: A Journey Into the Heart Of Laura Roslin, by Playa Palacios,” he read dramatically, continuing over his wife’s renewed fit of giggles. 

“Today is election day but the results are already in as school teacher turned unlikely president and prophet Laura Roslin was once again uncontested for the office. The last time she faced an opponent was two cycles ago when she defeated her then Vice President Gaius Baltar. The citizenry will again be marking this day, the anniversary of that fateful race, by celebrating the raven haired beauty some have taken to calling Queen Roslin. ”

Laura rolled her eyes and swatted Bill’s arm to halt the recitation. 

“Gods, what prose. The shining example of Colonia’s press corps,” she declared wryly. “I’m dying to know what exactly Playa found in my heart but I have to get ready.”

She turned back toward the bathroom but Bill caught her arm and spun her around and into a deep kiss. When she finally pulled away she was breathless.

“I hope she found me there, Madame President,” Bill rumbled as he pushed a stray lock of that famous raven hair from her cheek. She pecked him on the lips in needless, wordless reassurance and made a beeline for the bathroom before her morning could be delayed, as they often were, by a special ‘meeting’ with her husband. 

“There’s some really interesting stuff in here, Roslin,” he called after her. 

Laura smiled to her reflection in the mirror. She’d grown tired of this day of overzealous adoration the people decided to heap upon for her finding Earth after the first year and that was five years ago. Bill, however, seemed to revel in it more each time and she loved him for his unabashed delight in seeing her so loved by their people. 

“You can keep reading, Adama, I’m listening,” she called back into the outer room. 

She was listening but to the comforting cadence of his voice rather than the words as she began to apply her makeup. The first part of this story, distinguishable from one year to the next only by what degree of melodrama the writer chose to apply, was a recitation of a time in her life she’d rather not dwell on for too long.

The destruction of the Colonies. Her shaking voice as she took the oath and how delicate yet determined she looked in those pictures. How she heroically bore the burden of the presidency while silently suffering from terminal cancer. Humbly accepting her tragic fate and the role of the dying leader only to be thrown in the brig by her unrequited love. Kobol, the map to Earth, the agonizing last days of her battle with cancer. A healthy dose of speculation mixed with conspiracy theory about the still classified means of her mysterious cure. 

Laura smiled when Bill’s reflection appeared behind her in the mirror but continued to meticulously apply her mascara. This ritual, too, was familiar and Bill’s eyes shone with anticipation. 

“How do you like your favorite part this year, Admiral?”

He grinned and stepped into the room to sit on the toilet. When he started reading it was in the same tone, Laura thought, one might use to read a salacious novel.

“By far the most popular source of gossip even to this day revolves around the question of exactly when Adama and Roslin first began their romantic entanglement. One camp of romantics claims it started the first Colonial Day in space when the two leaders were spotted dancing closely during the celebration. That line of thought often plays into speculation that Adama’s suspension of Roslin’s presidency was not a difference of opinion on policy but rather a lover’s spat gone too far.”

He paused and Laura shot him a glare which he wisely took as encouragement to keep reading before he received yet another lecture about her time in the brig. 

“Still others point to the time spent together on Kobol as the genesis of the relationship. Kara Thrace Adama, the president and the First Gentleman’s daughter-in-law who was present for the mission, confirmed to this reporter that the pair spent the night on the planet in the same tent.”

“Kara,” Bill growled with an annoyed shake of his head.

“Go on, First Gentleman,” Laura prodded with a wicked smile. He harumphed at the title he hated but did as instructed. 

“Other theories range from the almost tragic, a declaration of love as Roslin lay on her death bed, to the absurd, including one persistent imagining that they were lovers long before they supposedly met at Galactica’s decommissioning. President Roslin and Admiral Adama have yet to publicly detail their love story but Roslin’s Chief of Staff, Tory Foster, responded to this reporter’s inquiry with a statement insisting the two were never involved while both held their positions in the fleet.” 

“Oh, Tory. Just keep telling yourself that, dear,” Laura said, not unkindly. They both knew they had Tory to thank for their happy ending, after all. 

“Gods, I love this picture.” 

Bill held up the paper and pointed to a photo taken on their wedding day that showed them walking down the aisle arm in arm. He wore his greys and she wore a crimson dress that highlighted the accents the sun from the planet had added to her hair. 

Laura leaned forward to read the caption.

_Roslin and Adama were married by the stream that now runs alongside the presidential mansion one year after the settlement on Colonia in a ceremony officiated by Galactica XO Saul Tigh and attended by the nation’s political and military elite._

Laura hummed happily and they both turned their attention to the other pictures. Finally, Bill broke the silence and stood.

“Come on, Madame President, you’ll be late for your campaign appearances and we can’t risk that,” he joked.

He held out his hand and she allowed him to lead her into the bedroom and to the window. Now hordes of people, hundreds more than just a half hour before, had gathered on the grass below. 

Bill broke into a wide grin at the sight and, seeing it, Laura couldn’t resist needling her husband. 

“So, Admiral, still think it was wrong for me to have stolen that first election?”


End file.
